Chapter Text
Fight, flight, freeze or fawn. Most people exhibit one of these four basic responses to a threatening situation—something Corbeau has learned first-hand, through becoming very embodiment of a ‘threatening situation’. The two girls standing before him are no exception.
The taller one, dressed in an oversized blue hoodie, looks torn between bolting out of the room, or dropping to her knees to beg for mercy. Flight and fawn. She’ll be easy to persuade.
It’s the other girl who catches his interest.
She’s even shorter than he is, and dressed in black and purple—a coincidence he no doubt finds more amusing than she does—though in her case, the purple is a fuzzy lavender sweater, matching a floral pattern on her black skirt. A smattering of freckles decorate rosy cheeks framed by wavy black hair. There’s nothing about the girl which should be remotely intimidating.
Nothing, save for the glare she’s throwing at him from across his desk.
The subtle tremble in her hands and a stiffness in her posture give her away. Still, he finds himself intrigued. Few people who enter his office dare to look him in the eyes, let alone glare at him like an angry Ekans. It’s cute.
He wonders how much he has to piss her off before she’ll hiss.
EARLIER THAT DAY
The chirping of Fletchling outside the windows of Hotel Z provide the perfect soundtrack to complement the serenity of a perfect, quiet morning. Kaye stretches as she leaves the elevator, waving to AZ behind the hotel desk and yawning contentedly as she settles into a couch. She needed this, after yet another a late night spent in the Z-A Royale. Quiet mornings are hard to come by these days, with the lobby usually bustling with the members of Team MZ fixing breakfast and chatting about their plans for the day. She loves them all, of course, but to find only Naveen down there—the least talkative of her new friends—sitting alone and enjoying a cup of tea is a refreshing change. They chat over a simple breakfast of croissants and Earl Grey as AZ’s Floette floats around the table, chirruping happily as she’s offered little nibbles. Naveen is happy to share what he’d prepared for himself with Kaye, the peace seeming to have put him in a good mood as well.
“HEY! URBAIN!”
Lida’s shout shatters the stillness, the front door of Hotel Z slamming against the wall as she barrels through it. She skids to a halt in the middle of the lobby, looking wildly around the room until she notices Kaye and Naveen sitting at the coffee table, teacups in hand.
Well, it had been a quiet morning.
“Do you guys know where Urbain is?”
Kaye shakes her head, a croissant dangling inelegantly from her mouth.
“Not here.” Naveen shrugs, his voice level in spite of the sudden and unwelcome intrusion of noise. “He must have headed out earlier to be his usual, helpful self around the city.”
“That idiot!” Lida is more agitated than Kaye has ever seen her, shifting from one foot to another and running her fingers through her hair in a familiar nervous tick. It’s the motion she always makes when she’s worried, or annoyed, or just or thinking hard. But this is faster. Almost frantic.
Kaye hastily swallows a mouthful of croissant. “What’s wrong, Lida?”
“Apparently, he borrowed some money to shoot a Hotel Z promo spot. So we’re in debt now—to this scary group called the Rust Syndicate.”
“What?” Naveen snaps up to sit pin-straight in his armchair. “THE Rust Syndicate?”
“Yes, them!” Lida’s speech is halfway to a wail. “The ones so scary even a rampaging alpha Pokemon wouldn’t dare mess with them!”
“He took out a loan from a syndicate?” Kaye raises her hands, horrified. “He’s—no way, I know he’s a bit naive, but he’s not that stupid—” The ringing of her Rotom phone cuts her off, the device shooting from her pocket to levitate in front of her.
An unknown number.
Kaye shoots a worried glance at her friends. Lida is almost white, and Naveen’s usually placid expression is rigid and wide-eyed.
She answers the call.
“Hello.” A deep voice fills the lobby. “This is Kaye, right? The kid who lives and helps out at Hotel Z?”
Kaye's gut twists. The anxiety in the room seems to curdle, thick enough to cut. They have her phone number. There’s no point in lying.
“That’s me.”
A low chuckle sounds from the man on the other end of the phone. “Well, aren’t you an honest one. Or maybe just naive? You should be more careful about answering questions from unfamiliar callers.”
“Well, you’re clearly familiar with me,” Kaye snaps, before she can stop herself. Lida waves her arms frantically in a silent appeal for Kaye to shut up, and Naveen leans away from the Rotom phone as though it might attack him.
“Yes. I am,” says the man.
Never have such agreeable words sounded more like a threat.
“Now, I’m calling as a representative of the Rust Syndicate. And I wanted to discuss a bit of money your friend Urbain borrowed from us. I could have just dropped in at that fine hotel you work at . . . ” He leaves the sentence dangling in the air, the threat implicit in the silence. “But I figured you would want to avoid a scene. Especially since Urbain has been working so hard to bring in new customers.”
Kaye is silent, biting down on any more ill-advised retorts.
“So I ask that you kindly stop by our office. You’ll find it in the Bleu District.” A pause. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
The line goes silent, Kaye's Rotom phone swooping back into her pocket looking pleased with itself for a job well done.
“Oh Arceus, Kaye,” Lida whines, “they tracked down your number too?!”
Naveen is staring into his cup of tea. “How deep in trouble are we, exactly?”
“Well, Urbain didn’t borrow a ton to begin with.” says Lida. “Only ₽100,000. But the interest on the loan is out of control! It’s already ₽1,000,000”
“So, they’re loan Sharpedos.” Kaye buries her face in her hands. “Fabulous.”
“I hear the Rust Syndicate makes it impossible for you to pay back your interest,” says Naveen. “Then they can force you to work off your debt by doing their bidding . . .”
“You’re not serious!?” Kaye's stomach plummets. Indentured servitude? That’s the kind of thing which only happens in history books, dystopian fiction, and the crime shows her mum likes to watch. It doesn’t happen to actual people. Not anymore . . . right?
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Naveen mumbles. “If that’s true, we’re dealing with some seriously heinous people.”
Floette chirps with worry from where she floats at Naveen’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Floette,” says Lida, trying to soothe the little fairy. “We’ll get Urbain out of this mess somehow.”
“If it’s true that they force others to work for them by imposing unreasonable interest,” comes a hoarse voice from the far end of the lobby, “we must at least try to talk things out with them.”
Kaye, Naveen and Lida all turn to face AZ. He’s standing, as ever, behind the check-in desk, his towering figure hunched and worry etched into the creases on his face.
“I doubt they’re the kind of people you can just talk things out with, AZ,” says Kaye. She usually appreciates his preference for diplomacy, having shared a few long conversations with the towering man over pots of tea or coffee, but today it strikes her as misplaced.
“Perhaps not,” says AZ, calmly. “Even so, it is only through speaking with each other that we can hope to find some satisfactory resolution. For now, it seems the only option is to go to the Rust Syndicate’s office, as requested.”
“Yeah, you’re right, AZ.” Lida’s voice is shaky. “Especially since they’ve called two of us now . . . ”
“I can’t get ahold of Urbain,” says Naveen, looking up from his own rotom phone.
“Hey, Kaye?” Lida fidgets, shifting her weight from foot to foot as though she feels guilty for whatever she’s about to ask. “If they already know where to find us, I don’t feel great going to their office alone—”
“You’re not going alone!” Kaye cuts in, aghast. “Don’t be daft, Lida, I’m coming with you!”
“Thanks!” Lida looks like she could faint with relief. “You’re the best, Kaye. I’ll feel so much better that way.”
Kaye turns to Naveen—the only one of their group the Rust Syndicate hasn’t reached out to. Whatever the reason for that oversight, she would prefer to keep it that way.
“Naveen, you stay here. If anything happens while we’re gone, we’re counting on you to handle it.”
“Wha—” Naveen was halfway off his armchair, but plops back into it with a relieved yet conflicted expression. “A-alright . . .” He taps his fingers on the rim of the tea cup he’s still holding. “You two . . . will be okay. Won’t you?”
“The Rust Syndicate certainly seem disreputable,” says AZ, “yet I’ve not heard of the police taking any action against them. Make of that what you will.”
“That someone’s getting their pockets lined, I’ll bet,” mutters Kaye, trudging to the door. Still, AZ has a point. If this Rust Syndicate were in the habit of murdering people, surely that would be hard for the police to ignore. She takes a deep breath, pulling her lips into a smile as she turns and pauses in the doorway. “We’ll be back. That’s a promise.”
As she walks with Lida toward the Bleu District, the clear sky completely at odds with both her mood and predicament, Kaye isn’t sure she’ll ever trust another quiet morning.